


Backspin

by SevenBetter



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Because around these parts that's where it belongs, Ben was reluctantly popular, Billiards banter, F/M, High school reunion to be perfectly clear, Not that kind get your mind out of the gutter, One could say this two-shot has a light smack of banter, Rey has Special Skills, Rey was an outcast, Spy banter, Then put it back in the gutter, They both were far from who they wanted to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21671995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevenBetter/pseuds/SevenBetter
Summary: That's what these reunions are about, aren't they? Nostalgia?Looking fondly back on something and convincing yourself that the way you remember it is true?Nostalgia is myopic, reminiscence is for the blissfully ignorant. For those who accept their faulty memories as  real.Rey's memory is better than that.She stares up at the banner, listens to the buzz of about a hundred people.Ackbar Memorial High School, Class of 1994.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 19
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takin it back to 2004, y'all. Feel free to picture Rey with some frosted Christina Aguilera lip gloss and a bad ankle tattoo of a swirly sun, cuz I did!

Rey takes a sip of her vodka on the rocks and wonders, not for the first time tonight, what the hell she's doing here.

Ages fourteen through eighteen were hardly the best years of her life. Depending on her mood that day she might even call them the worst years.

Yet here she is, exposing herself to an environment whose sole purpose is to relive them.

That's what these reunions are about, aren't they? Nostalgia?

Looking fondly back on something and convincing yourself that the way you remember it is true?

Nostalgia is myopic, reminiscence is for the blissfully ignorant. For those who accept their faulty memories as real.

Rey's memory is better than that.

She stares up at the banner, listens to the buzz of about a hundred people.

Ackbar Memorial High School, Class of 1994. 

She hasn't given those words a single thought since their graduation ten years ago. She remembers walking across the auditorium stage as they called her name, not bothering to look out at the crowd since no one was there for her.

When they placed the diploma in her hand, all she felt was relief. That piece of paper was her ticket out, the last thing she needed to get a job and start a life somewhere else.

She turns slowly and looks back at her table. At least whatever member of the alumni committee in charge of seating had the sense to put all the former loners together. During the dinner hour, Rey actually had a decent time catching up with Phasma and Mitaka. 

Phasma's working at the Pentagon, which doesn't surprise Rey in the least. She's had that steely, commanding air since adolescence.

Mitaka's a long-haul trucker. He never was good with social interaction: always too nervous, always struggling with what to say. The solitude of the road suits him, he says.

And, well, now that those two chats are over, there really isn't anyone else she'd like to talk to.

Not that there weren't a few other people who tried to talk to _her_.

Exclusively men.

Rey was a late bloomer. And as a result there are people here, noticing her, who never gave her a second glance in high school.

She might have been flattered by the new wave of attention. Except that every interaction has been a variation on the same theme:

None of them remember her.

"No way you went to AMHS. I never would have forgotten a face like that."

"Are you sure you were in Class of '94? What's your name again?"

"You were in senior year auto body shop? Shoulda picked you as my partner for the transmission rebuild!"

And Rey's personal favorite: 

"I'm positive you weren't in the yearbook."

She wasn't. She was absent on picture day. Because she was in court, pleading her case to get emancipated from Plutt.

She sighs.

What was she expecting? That things would have changed? 

That these _people_ would have changed? 

That she would spend the evening getting to know everyone she used to be desperate to escape from, only to realize she had been wrong about them, and they had been wrong about her, and now everyone is eager to form friendships they regret they didn't build a decade ago?

 _Ridiculous_. And Rey knows it. 

Just then, Kaydel Connix, former head cheerleader and current president of the alumni committee, takes the microphone and announces the start of the games and activities. A mystery group game is first, so she starts taking volunteers, and Rey frowns in distaste at everyone's forced eagerness.

She knocks back the rest of her drink and straightens, grabbing her bolero from the back of her chair.

She makes her way to the lobby, thinking of her big fluffy hotel bed near the train station, and resolves to order a room service cheeseburger and watch some cold case murder documentaries when she gets there.

She disturbs the air as she opens the heavy glass door to the hotel, and a nearby flyer flutters. 

AMHS SHUTTLE: FIRST PICKUP, 10:00 PM. EVERY 20 MINUTES THEREAFTER.

Her face falls. Shit. She pulls out her Nokia and mashes the buttons to wake it up. 8:42 PM. She sags,and glances around the deserted lobby. Not a soul to be found, not even at the check-in desk. She debates calling a cab, but her hotel is on the other side of town, and she knows the ride will be at least forty bucks. Not that she can't afford it, but Rey knows she'll always flinch at the prospect of wasting money, so she turns back to the hallway.

The only thing the reunion has going for it is the free booze. And Rey figures that as long as she keeps that coming, she can make it through one more hour.

One more hour plus eighteen extra minutes. She heaves a sigh.

When she reenters the ballroom, the chicken dance song is playing. Several classmates are standing on the dance floor, trying to answer Kaydel's AMHS trivia questions while also doing their best chicken impression. 

Rey practically runs for the open bar. She orders a dirty martini, extra olives, and stares longingly at the exit halfway across the cavernous room. She telepathically wills the bartender to hurry up.

Drink finally in hand, she flees and walks far enough away that the strains of the song have faded.

She debates returning to the lobby, but there's only so many games of Snake she can play on her phone before she goes insane. So she wanders the other way, further into the hotel, and adjusts the spaghetti strap on her silky dress.

The ballroom noise is replaced by a dinging and ringing and metallic clack, and if Rey had to guess, she would swear it's the sound of a pinball machine. 

She follows the noise, rounds a corner, and finds...

A small arcade?

There's the pinball machine she heard, and standing around it are three women Rey remembers were all English nerds in high school. One of them briefly waves a hand, and Rey responds quickly enough to offer a tight smile, but they both immediately break eye contact.

Then, Rey hears a chorus of angels.

Or at least she pretends she does. Because there in the corner sits a green felt pool table, with a long, low lamp hanging over it and a pile of cues leaned haphazardly against the wall.

She exhales in relief, wanders across the huge, dim room, passing Foosball and a tabletop Pac-Man game, two ping-pong tables, and shuffleboard. She rungs her fingers along the polished mahogany edge of the table and racks up the billiard balls.

To her left in a set-back alcove, a door to the outside has been propped open with a men's dress shoe. A slice of light from the parking lot spills in through the crack. On her next breath Rey smells the telltale skunkiness of marijuana, and she grins, remembering the stoner kids. People never really change. 

She methodically plays her way through two games and smiles to herself, sending a mental missive out to Chewie. _I've still got it, bud._

Starting in seventh grade, when things in the foster homes got worse, his pool hall became her sanctuary. It's how she got so good. Six years later, hustling drunk guys for $20 per game is how she fed herself during college.

She collects the balls again and checks her phone. 9:21. Progress.

Just as she breaks and begins anew, a shadow crosses the sliver of light. She hears a low comment and then a loud, baritone laugh.

Rey's busy lining up her next shot, so instead of seeing who enters, she hears that low voice mutter, "Rey Niima?"

She startles, her shot barely skims the side of the cue ball, and she whirls around.

There, blocking almost all the light from the propped door, is not one of the old stoner kids. 

It's Ben Solo. Star quarterback, surly homecoming king, famous for his cool indifference Ben Solo. 

Thankfully it appears he didn't grow any more in college, his stature looking similar to what Rey remembers. But his hair is longer, and he's filled out a little, and he finally managed to pull together some respectable facial hair, too.

Rey blinks. How the hell did he recognize her in profile, in a half-dark room while she was leaned away from him?

She asks him as much.

"Senior year auto body shop. We all spent a lot of time bent over the hoods of cars. You get used to seeing someone that way." He grins a little lascivously, and Rey narrows her eyes at him.

"You weren't in auto body shop, as I recall. You did theater."

"True," he admits, and tips his beer towards her, "but my dad taught shop. I was in the garage a lot anyway."

Suddenly Rey remembers, the awkward tense exchanges she and the other students would pretend not to see between their teacher and his son.

"Right, I forgot Han was your dad." She knocks the toe of her sandal against her cue. 

"'Han?'"

"What?"

"You guys are on a first-name basis now?" He looks alarmed.

"Yeah. I come back once a year to talk to the shop kids about their interest in machines, and career options." Ben points to her in silent question, so she mirrors him and points to herself. "Mechanical engineer." 

"Hmm. What do you help build?"

"Computers, mostly." 

He wanders closer and leans back against the pool table. "Far cry from a 1968 Impala."

"True," She slides an olive out from her martini and rolls it around in her mouth, "but I've got my hands full with what I do. If all our ideas flesh out, your cell phone will have more capabilities than a computer within the next eight years."

"Pfft, no way." He rolls his eyes.

"I mean it. Playing music, watching videos, accessing the web, taking high quality photos. A calculator, the weather channel, all of that on a cell phone." She recites the list with a small measure of pride.

"I don't even own a cell phone."

"One of the stragglers, eh?" Rey teases, and bites into the olive. He frowns, and looks like he has a comment to make, but shakes his head and shrugs. 

"What are you up to these days?"

"I'm an investment banker."

"Sounds high stress." She raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, you're not wrong. I think I handle it all right, though."

A shout floats in from the parking lot. "Who else is out there?" She inclines her head towards the door. 

"Oh, you know. The guys. Hux, Snap, Dameron." 

"Ah, the former golden boys."

"Who says we aren't still golden?" 

Rey snorts. "No one's golden after high school, Solo. That's not how it works."

He shrugs, and looks down at the table, eyes skimming over the placement of the balls. "You playing against yourself?" She nods. "You want a real opponent?" She looks up.

His dark eyes are pinned on her. She considers him for a long moment, then decides he can't be too awful, considering the small talk they just made.

"Good luck." 

He laughs under his breath and selects the longest cue from the pile.

\--

Within ten minutes, Ben isn't laughing anymore. Instead he's giving her half-serious glares and sighing dramatically every time she makes another shot. They chat in between turns, and Rey suspects he's trying to buy himself time, as though in the course of a two-minute exchange he might magically get better. 

He's not terrible. He's actually a decent player, with a steady shot and the kind of thoughtfulness such a detail-oriented sport requires. But he hasn't practiced.

And he certainly hasn't spent his entire adolescence hiding in a pool hall with the tutelage of a former professional player.

Despite the fact that their conversation delays his inevitable loss to her, Rey finds she doesn't mind.

He's funny, and asks her questions about her life, and remembers things about her. He remembered her name, which was already more than anyone else, but he also remembers the comic books she used to read, and for some reason, that she hates ketchup. 

"I don't..." she splutters, "how do you remember that?"

"I have no idea!" He holds his hands up in surrender, and she starts giggling. "I just have this image of you in my head eating a basket of fries from the cafeteria, and they're slathered in mustard." 

Her head tips back as laughter takes over, and she nods in earnest. "I..." she swipes tears from under her eyes, "I...damn it. You're right. I put mustard on everything."

"You still do?" He says, fighting his lingering grin, and she nods.

"You wanna line up your next shot, cowboy?"

He looks up from where he's leaning against the table. "'Cowboy?'"

She leans against the table and tips her head down with a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't think I don't remember when you were in Footloose junior year. You looked nice in that Stetson."

Even under the weak light of the billiard lamp she can see his cheeks flush in embarrassment. He pushes his hair from his face. "Fair enough." He mutters, and she watches the muscles in his arm shift as he prepares his shot. 

He misses the corner pocket, and with a groan, steps back from the table to give Rey space for her shot.

She evaluates and circles around to where he is, plucking the last olive from her glass on the way. 

She sinks her ball into the side pocket in a sleek, precise move. Ben groans again. "How the hell did you get this good?"

She blinks and tries to laugh at his obvious frustration. "I uh, used to hang out at a pool hall, while we were in high school."

"There was a pool hall in town?"

"Yeah, in the back of that bar? The Falcon?"

Ben stops perusing the table, stops moving completely, except for where his eyes widen. "You were at the Falcon. Alone. As a teenager."

She nods without looking up at him, remembering the floor littered in peanut shells, that collected in the corners like snowdrifts. An abundance of old, grizzled regulars treated her like family. 

He hesitates for a moment. "Was that safe?"

"I never had an issue, all those years, Ben. I think everyone knew why I was there." She rubs stray chalk marks from her cue.

He's silent, so she looks over only to find him still staring at her. His voice is soft. "Why _were_ you there, Rey?"

A million possible lies run through her head. But his dark eyes are watching her every move. The muscles in his jaw work as he waits for her to speak.

Even if they weren't, she finds she doesn't want to lie to him.

"Because being there was safer than being at home." She feigns nonchalance. 

She should have known Ben would be smarter than to fall for that. His knuckles go white around his cue.

"Rey, I'm so sor-"

"Don't worry about it. That's over now. I have a good life and I haven't felt unsafe in years." She says brusquely, and gestures to the table with her fist around her cue. "It's your shot."

He doesn't comply immediately, keeps looking at her, and she wants to squirm, wants to shout at him to stop, but under all that, she doesn't want him to leave.

So she avoids his gaze, and waits patiently until he sighs and evaluates the table.

His next shot makes it in, and he starts giving her shit that he might actually beat her. She grins, relieved to be on a new topic, and gives him shit right back.

She watches the muscles in his back shift as he stretches his arms over his head, watches his thumb turn blue from rubbing the end of the cue while she's taking her turns. She tries to ignore those things. 

She sinks one striped ball in a move so sleek it looks effortless, and Ben lets out a low groan, tipping his head back and pulling the skin of his throat taut against his Adam's apple. She can see the stubble under his chin, demarcating the place where he starts shaving it off, and she wants to trace it with her fingers the same way she drags them against the table.

She tries to ignore that, too. 

Just once, the slippery navy blue fabric of her dress picks up a piece of green fuzz from the table, right under her chest. She squints and brushes it off, then looks up to see Ben hasn't yet taken his turn, and his gaze is darting away from where her hand had been.

That one's a little harder to ignore. 

_Don't be absurd,_ she reminds herself, while Ben chalks his cue. This is Ben Solo. Rich, eternally popular, untouchable, child of the state Attorney General Ben Solo.

 _But the way he was looking at you,_ some naive corner of her mind whines. 

_No._

Rey's smarter than just what she feels between her legs. So she runs her tongue over her teeth and turns her attention back to the game.

Soon they're down to only the green six ball and the eight ball. Ben is solids, so Rey leans back against the tacky wallpaper while he lines up.

But then he steps back to look at the table again. And changes his angle. And moves around to the other side. Even Rey will admit the ball's in an awkward spot: marooned right between the corner and side pocket and smack dab in the middle of the table. Determining the ideal shot isn't easy.

But after the fourth time he lines up and then frowns, stepping back. she grows a little suspicious. 

"Having some trouble there Solo?"

"Not all of us are secret prodigies, Rey. Some of us have to take our time."

"You certainly haven't taken your time up until now," she fires back and he looks up from the table, a tiny smirk blooming.

He's tall enough that his head is above that rectangular lamp centered over the table, so not much light hits his face. She drinks in all the angles, the way his hair is so black it fades into the dark of the room around his head.

The darkness doesn't stop Rey from seeing the way his smile softens, as he walks around to the side closest to her and sits back on the head rail.

"You trying to prolong the game?" She accuses boldly.

"Why the hell would I want to prolong my own loss?"

"Or maybe you think you can prevent it." She teases, shrugging one shoulder. She watches his hand toy with the leather lattice of the pocket. 

"Can I?" He murmurs, so low she almost misses it, but she grins, then screws her mouth to one side. His eyes dart down and watch her lips move.

This time, Rey decides not to ignore it.

"It's gonna take a little more than just some stalling to defeat me." She tilts her head back against the wall, looks at him through eyes half-lidded. That last martini is hitting her, not too hard, but enough to start sloughing off her inhibitions. 

"How much more?" There's a new, husky edge to his voice that wasn't there before. A vague thrill starts up in her abdomen. He takes a step closer to her.

She hums for a moment, analyzing his gaze, and sees the liquid desire there. It emboldens her, to reach out and touch one of the buttons on his shirt, rubbing it like a talisman that might grant her the end to this night that she suddenly, desperately craves. 

"Enough that I won't care about winning anymore." He's drifted close enough now that she whispers it. Then he's close enough that his breath stirs the bangs that frame her eyes, close enough that his when his hand presses to the wall near her side, she can feel the heat of his skin through her dress.

"Then I'll have to offer you something better than a victory, is that it?" He mutters, leaning down enough to say it into her ear, and despite his heat, despite his closeness, she shivers. She nods, and feels his other hand ghost over her bare shoulder. It traces down the length of her arm from a millimeter away. "I think I can manage that."

His hand reaches hers and he winds their fingers together, right at the same moment his lips connect with her neck.

She exhales, hard, as she feels the plush, wet inner side of his lip against her collarbone, the even wetter touch of his tongue just over her pulse, and her free arm reaches up to tangle in his hair, to pull his face within orbit of hers.

And somehow those lips feel even better on her own, sucking her tongue into his mouth and groaning like he did before, only instead of disappointment now it sounds like euphoria. Ben's hand against the wall grips her waist like a vice. Rey feels as the gesture drags the hem of her dress up an inch, and the tickle of the fabric against her thigh causes goosebumps to erupt there.

They kiss until they're breathless, until his hand has probably permanently creased her dress, until she can't stand the maddening drag of her nipples against the fabric and she can feel him pressing hard between her legs and he's just begun muttering all the things he wants to do into her hair as she kisses under his jaw line.

She doesn't catch all of it, just snippets.

_...get you under me, keep you there all night, and..._

_...sure you come first, just so I can feel it on me._

One thing, though, she hears in full.

"I've never been this hard for someone in my goddamn life."

Rey pants against his chest for a moment, mouthing at it through the fabric, and reaches out blindly, snagging her purse and sifting through it for her phone. Ben leans back just enough to watch her. The glowing grey screen tells her it's 10:37 PM.

She puts it away and throws them back into the dimness. "Can you keep that erection under control long enough to get on the shuttle?"

He swallows hard, and Rey reaches out to press her fingers against the hollow of his throat. "I think I can manage that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So do you think they're gonna hook up or WHAT


	2. Chapter 2

_Rey pants against his chest for a moment, mouthing at it through the fabric, and reaches out blindly, snagging her purse and sifting through it for her phone. Ben leans back just enough to watch her. The glowing grey screen tells her it's 10:37 PM._

_She puts it away and throws them back into the dimness. "Can you keep that erection under control long enough to get on the shuttle?"_

_He swallows hard, and Rey reaches out to press her fingers against the hollow of his throat. "I think I can manage that."_

_\-------_

"I'm staying at the Embassy Suites next to the train station."

"Your hotel room have two beds?" He mutters into her neck. She laughs softly, presses his head even closer, which he takes as a cue to drag his tongue over her skin.

"What?"

"Can't have everyone in my hometown thinking I'm a common hussy. Sleeping with a woman I haven't seen in ten years. But appearing as though we're just splitting a room is fine."

"Seriously?"

He lifts his head and stares at her, wide-eyed. "One of the receptionists at that hotel used to work at the groomers where my parents take their dog. She might _recognize_ me!"

"My hotel room only has one bed."

"This is my reputation we're talking about, Rey!"

She rolls her eyes, hard. "God, I fucking hate being from a small town."

"Okay, here's the plan." He whispers seriously, and waits until she meets his eyes. He's actively frowning, trying to shut down a smile. "We'll stagger our entrances into the hotel so no one knows."

Rey laughs, loud, scratching her nails against his scalp a little, and he finally breaks too, smile splitting wide. "Fine, fine. But we need to get going if we want to make the next ride."

He freezes, and his eyes gleam wickedly. "Oh I'll be _sure_ you get the next _ride_."

" _Ew_ , god. What a line. Go tell your friends you're leaving, Cowboy."

He lingers a moment longer, pressing his thumb against her lower lip, and then in one swift motion tears himself away and retraces his steps to the door. 

She hears the noise outside diminish as he says something. She pulls on her bolero, puts her phone back into her purse. 

He reappears and they make their way through the empty arcade. He slings an arm around her shoulders, and keeps it there as they make their way past the ballroom. There's still loud music spilling out. 

There are perhaps ten other former classmates milling around outside, in pairs or clusters, and no one pays them any mind as they lean against the wall to wait.

On their left, Solo's friends come around the corner, headed for a lone car at the far edge of the parking lot. Snap and Hux are shoving each other and laughing over something, but Dameron glances their way as he walks, and he slows a little.

He narrows his eyes at her for a moment. Unsure of herself, Rey just blinks back.

 _So much for keeping this covert,_ she thinks to herself, and almost considers shrugging Solo's arm off.

But then Dameron's face breaks into a tiny smile. "You be nice to my boy, all right Niima?"

She huffs a laugh and hears Ben make an embarrassed noise behind her. "Will do. Got him his own bed at the hotel and everything."

Poe scoffs and glances between them incredulously, then shakes his head, lifting a hand in farewell and drifting off into the darkness. 

"Are you guys still close?" Rey asks, and turns back to see Ben already looking down at her.

He nods. "We were apart for six years, while I was getting my MBA. A lot...changed, about me during that time." He looks nervous suddenly, and on instinct Rey reaches up to hook her pinkie around his, where his hand hangs off her shoulder. Ben's gaze goes far away. "I spent too long away from people who understood me. It wasn't good. Turns out when I moved to the city, I picked the same neighborhood. I ran into him on the sidewalk one day and he invited me to grab a beer. From there, he just...helped me fix a lot of stuff I had let go wrong."

"So he's a little protective, now." She supplies, and Ben nods, staring down at his toes. "Well," she leans into him a little more, speaks into his chest, "I like whoever he's helped you become."

Ben sighs, long and slow. "I really, really want to kiss you again. But we shouldn't be indecent."

Rey nods. "Your sterling reputation, and all."

"Mhmm. I'm considered a very upright citizen in these parts."

Rey lowers her voice to a purr. "Oh, I'll have certain _parts_ of you very _upright_."

His eyes widen, and he lets out a shocked laugh. "Holy shit.'

Rey grins, "I just had to get back at you for that _'ride'_ comment."

"Nice work," he praises, drawing out both words, and she leans into him.

"Anyways. Save your indecency for one of the two hotel beds, all right man?"

"I thought there was only one."

"Shh. Idiot. Someone might hear you! 'Common hussy,' remember?"

He shakes his head, but he's still smiling so hard his cheeks are creased.

Rey never saw him smile like that in high school. Not once.

They both turn as the white mini-bus rumbles up to the hotel entrance. They're the first two to board, and Ben leads her all the way to the back, past the second set of doors, to the long row of seats against the rear wall. He keeps his arm around her as they sit down. 

As soon as they're on the road, the interior lights wink out and the bus is dark.

"Can I get that kiss now?" He whispers into her hair, and a thrill passes through her. 

She tamps it down, turns to offer him a quick, chaste peck. 

She pulls back. "That wasn't enough," he mutters against her lips, but his eyes dart to look out the window, distracted. Rey turns to follow his gaze.

The bus is passing their actual old high school, the faded brick illuminated by a few floodlights scattered across the facade. The same dented red trash cans are chained to the huge oak trees. The whole bus grows quiet for a moment, everyone staring.

He mumbles to her. "Do you think you changed much since high school?"

Rey considers it for a long moment, until they're pulling onto the highway. "I'm not sure I can make much of a comparison." His brow furrows in confusion. "I knew so little about myself back then. I was just trying to survive."

Ben nods. "Struggle does that to you. Robs you of your sense of self."

"Or in my case, never allows it to emerge in the first place." His hand curls closer to her arm, as though to shield her from all she went through, all those years ago. "College was the first chance I had to start noticing things about myself. What I enjoyed doing, how I wanted to spend my money and my time," she glances up at him, "the people to whom I gravitated."

"Did you gravitate towards me? Earlier?" He asks tentatively, his voice hushed and close.

Such a gentle sound coming from such a huge man is...oddly intoxicating, to her. She reaches and thumbs that same button on his shirt, her lucky talisman

"I was... wary at first. I had a lot of weird conversations tonight." He grins. "But, yeah. It didn't take long before I felt, I dunno. Drawn to you."

She can't fault the way their eyes meet, and then their lips do. Eventually they break apart and they're quiet the rest of the way. Rey closes her eyes and watches the way the quick streak of the street lights, creating flashes of color behind her eyelids. 

Most people appear to be taking a late night train back into the city, the last one before the station closes at midnight. Rey and Ben turn the opposite way, make the short walk to the hotel. 

They hold hands the entire way.

Ten feet from the entrance, he straightens and says, "Okay. I'll head in. Then you count to 100, using one-mississippi's. It's the only reliable way. Then you can follow." He shoots her a sharp glance like they're in a heist movie and Rey stifles a laugh. "What's your room number?"

"207." 

He holds one finger against his ear. "Copy that, grease monkey is staying in room 207, over. I repeat, room two...oh...seven, over. Kylo Ren en route to target's room, STAT."

"Why is grease monkey my code name?"

"Because of senior year auto-body shop."

"I haven't worked on cars in years, Ben."

"Too bad, I came up with this joke, I pick the code names. Over."

"And what the hell is Kilo Rain?

"No, it's _Kylo Ren."_

" _Kyro Len_?"

"Jesus, no. Kylo. Ren."

"Whatever, what is it?"

"Truthfully, I have no idea. It's what Poe used to call me whenever we played spies."

"By the way, STAT is a medical term, not a spy term."

"I really don't care, _over_. I'm re-purposing it for our mission, over."

"And you're only supposed to say 'over' at the very end of your message."

He blinks at her drolly. "You know, if you keep ruining my fun maybe I will have to find a different bed."

Rey shrugs. "Suit yourself. I don't need you to make myself feel good." 

In the ensuing silence, she slides her eyes up his body, slowly, then meets his shocked gaze.

When their eyes lock, he splutters. "How dare you put that image in my mind when I'm trying to fake-reject you."

Rey shakes her head. "Your mission may be for us to enter separately, but my mission is to seduce you. I'm just pursuing my endgame." 

He smirks. "Well. I respect your commitment."

"Thanks. You think you can respect it while we're naked?"

"Absolutely. _Over_."

"Good. Go. I'm starting to count now." She shoves him towards the door, and he laughs, gripping her hand until the last possible second. 

He finally turns and saunters into the hotel, she watches him bypass the elevator and turn into the stairwell. 

She cheats. Counts to 100 a little fast.

Then she strolls in, swinging her purse as she walks, nodding hello to the clerk standing at the desk. 

When she steps off the elevator, she makes her way through the maze of hallways until she reaches the right stretch, rooms 200-207.

There Ben is, sitting back against a console the same way he did on the pool table. Hands in his pockets, hair falling into his face. He's lit up brighter here, so Rey can see the constellation of moles and large freckles on his face, the slight iridescence to the dark red of his shirt. 

"I realized too late. I don't have a key."

She shrugs. "Guess your mission's been compromised. Anyone could have wandered out of a room and noticed you here."

She swipes the key card and he reaches over her, stretching his hand wide to press the door open. "And your mission? Still intact?"

The door hisses shut, and Rey turns around, pressing him back against it. He reaches for her and lifts her slowly, almost gently, and her legs part to nestle around his hips. She gasps at the feeling of his fingertips, digging into the meat of her thighs. "I dunno," she whispers, pushing his hair back and leaning in, ghosting her mouth over his, "you tell me."

"I think you can safely call it a mission accomplished." One huge hand roams under the hem of her dress, drifting closer to the lace of her underwear, and she fuses their mouths, her desperation swiftly returning.

He walks deeper into the room, dropping her onto the bed, and they both grin at the huge puff of air that escapes from the down comforter when she lands. He wastes no time flopping next to her, pushing his shoes off unceremoniously. 

He reaches for her strappy sandals.

It's like time stops moving. He traces the thin strip of leather that circles around the back of her heel, then slides it off with a single finger, pushing the shoe delicately onto the floor. He kisses the bony jut of her ankle and drags his lips up her bare leg, eliciting a whimper when he gets to the inside of her knee. He repeats the same with the other foot.

All the while, his gaze is burning into hers. She's both stunned and thrilled by his sudden intensity. Despite the blaze of his eyes, Rey doesn't think anyone's ever touched her so delicately.

When he's finished, she hooks her feet around the backs of his thighs and tries to drag him up closer. "Once we get this going," she tells him, "I don't want slow, and I don't want gentle."

He swallows hard and his hand tightens against the bed. 

She arches her back as his eyes roam the shape of her body. His hand drifts from the sheets and drags lightly over her waist, then moves north for her chest. He traces the shape of her breast for a moment before flicking her nipple through the fabric once, twice, three times. Harder with each time. Then he pinches it, firmly enough to make Rey cry out a little, nodding frantically that _this_ is what she wants.

"Copy that, _over_." he mutters, and crawls over her, right as she begins to laugh. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kilo Rain is what I call him in my head sometimes.


End file.
